


230. four apocalyptic horsemen with no horses

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [101]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:03:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: “Is this the last time,” says War.
“No,” says Death.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [warning: reference to drug abuse]

Somewhere in the pristine depths of Famine’s house, a clock is ticking perfectly-measured out slices of time. War sits on the couch and watches her boots bleed into the carpet. She liked it better when Famine was a noblewoman, or better yet when she was just like the rest of them: wearing her hunger openly, nakedly, angrily. Now Famine is at her best when she is pretending not to be hungry at all, and War is stuck here feeling monstrous and out-of-place.

They’re waiting on Conquest – because they are always waiting on Conquest, the bitch. Famine is devouring the last of her hungry-pills in one of the cabinets in the other room. Death is here. Also: she isn’t.

“Is this the last time,” War says to her boots. She drags them back and forth and they leave a rust-red smear on Famine’s rug. Good.

“No,” says Death. War looks up and sees her, lying on the couch next to her. Her head is on the armrest. She has yellow curls, this time, and they’re cascading down towards the ground. Her boots are as muddy as War’s are – well. Other things. They are on the couch, an inch from War’s thigh.

“Really?” says War. “They’re making a right mess of it, feels like an end.”

Death just shakes her head. War sighs out through her nose, sharp, gets up and starts pacing around and around. Red footprints bleed into the floorboards, the carpet. “I’m sick of waiting,” she snaps. “I’m sick of doing this same shit over and over. I’m sick of sittin’ through – bar fights, and world wars, and all that useless shite and then havin’ to do it _again_. I’m sick of—” she gestures at her body, the leather jacket where there used to be armored plate “— _this_.”

Death shrugs a shoulder. She doesn’t really care, War can tell. But then again she never cares about anything, does she. That’s the point to her. Sometimes it is a comfort. This is not one of those times. War wishes Death would get up and _fight_ her. War wishes Conquest was here, so she could at least have a _fight_ before she lost.

(Even Conquest likes other games these days, corporate boardrooms and sums of money whisking from bank account to bank account. Numbers on screens. She’d said: _this is war too, you know_. War had said: _no it isn’t, no it isn’t, no it isn’t_.)

“But the fighting,” Death says. “That one big fight. The apocalypse. Is it worth it?”

War stops. Pool of red spreading out under her. “Yeah,” she says. “It is. You know it is.”

“So,” says Death. She sits up, a lazy roll; her feet drop down to the carpet, smearing mud. “Besides, this world is good. It has babies, and apples, and the Nintendo Wii. I don’t want it to go.”

War blinks at her. “You’re – _Death_ ,” she says. “You should want it gone more than any of us, yeah?”

“Without living, there is no dying,” Death says, as if that makes sense. “They need to keep living. Otherwise – what are we? Nothing.”

War scoffs. She wants her sword, and her horse, and to go out and rip this world at the seams. Maybe this time it _won’t_ come back together. Maybe Death is fallible. Only she knows Death isn’t. Death is the only constant in her life, while Famine learns about diet pills like it’s something that will save her and Conquest pretends that a chessboard is anything as good as a planted flag. Death is always there. She is unchanging. Also: she is changing, over and over again. Just like the rest of them.

“Soon,” Death says, and she flops back down on the couch again.

“’bout bloody time,” War says. She starts pacing again. If she walks around this couch in circles for long enough, eventually it’ll all turn red.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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